<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>relativism by CHEETOBREATH</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25207336">relativism</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/CHEETOBREATH/pseuds/CHEETOBREATH'>CHEETOBREATH</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>hubris // hamartia [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Bagsy Not In Net, CHIM - Freeform, Character Study, Companionship, Complicated Emotion, Confession: The Author relates A Lot to the character, Dovahkiin is Khajiit / Tojay, Dragonborn DLC (Elder Scrolls), Elder Scrolls Lore, Enemies to Friends, F/M, Falling In Love, Hurt, Khajiit (Elder Scrolls), Miraak-centric, Multi, Other, Requited Unrequited Love, Self-Indulgent Character Study, Talk of the Towers, The Towers, The Wheel, Unrequited Love, actually barely any comfort, and he is too absorbed in his mind to realize that it doesn't have to be this way, and i wish Bethesda had gone with their original plans for expanding the DLC, because Miraak falls hard, because Miraak is a deeply fascinating character, i too would genuinely like to make out with the Dragonborn, probably really little comfort, subtle mentions of the Thalmor, these are snippets and fragments from a larger narrative, time jumps in narrative, what i am trying to say here is that Miraak is a great catalyst to explore emotion for me</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 10:48:03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,005</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25207336</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/CHEETOBREATH/pseuds/CHEETOBREATH</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>He decides not to indulge in the thought -- until he does.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Dovahkiin | Dragonborn/Miraak, Dovahkiin | Dragonborn/One-Sided Miraak, Female Dovahkiin | Dragonborn/Miraak, One-Sided Miraak/ Dovahkiin | Dragonborn</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>hubris // hamartia [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1826167</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>34</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>relativism</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>exploring Miraak as a character is utterly fascinating, as the possibilities for character study seem endless; we were given only bits and pieces in the DLC, but it hints at something so much larger.<br/>(seeing different headcanons is a big whooping Yes for me, haha.)</p>
<p> </p>
<p>somewhat puzzled fragments of a larger narrative (that focuses on the threat the Thalmor might pose, as well as Miraak being brought back by the dragonborn), though these snippets focus on Miraak's emotions (in regards to said dragonborn).</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The metal is warm where it is pressed against his face. It is not his first waking, though he cannot shake the fear coming with it.</p>
<p>Has she taken it off? Has she seen his face?</p>
<p>Trying to sit up makes the pain in his side flare, and he growls. In the darkness, there are stars, and the gentle orange glow of a campfire.</p>
<p>“You are awake.”</p>
<p>What an observation.</p>
<p>“I did not take the mask off, just checked the side of your head. It looked like they had gotten a good hit. I did not want to risk it.”</p>
<p>Mindful.</p>
<p>“Your side. A rib was cracked, wound shallow but high blood loss. I treated you with magick. I have potions, too.”</p>
<p><em>‘I didn’t want to force them down your throat’</em> goes unsaid. A moment passes – Miraak feels strangely… grateful. She didn’t look at his face. As far as he knows. But he won’t look a gifted horse in the mouth.</p>
<p>This time, his attempt is successful, and he groans lowly as he lifts himself onto his legs by the campfire, despising the weakness he can feel shaking in his arms. They are situated on a hill, right in front of withered ruins, with wide view upon the surrounding land. They can be seen, though, too. Mindless, at first glance, but she must’ve chosen the location for a reason.</p>
<p>The dragonborn sits by the side of the fire, a couple of respectful feet between them, her posture relaxed, and holds a rose-coloured flask in his direction. Her eyes are kind.</p>
<p>Not caring to look any deeper, Miraak grasps the glass, slower than he usually would, and turns his face away into the shadows to lift the metal. The potion glides down his throat like liquid strength, and almost immediately, the light shiver in his limbs stops. He sighs inaudibly.</p>
<p>“This is good work.”</p>
<p>He can hear the smile in her voice when she answers, and he hates her for it. “A friend.”</p>
<p>She doesn’t say anything else.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Why did you want to come back?”</p>
<p>How can she ask this, when she herself has told him his reasons before?</p>
<p>Clenched teeth, he can feel his shoulders tense. He doesn’t look at her.</p>
<p>“Freedom.”</p>
<p>It is not a lie. If she believes it to be one, so be it. He knows his reasons, even if he won’t tell her. It is one among many.</p>
<p>Because of her, he is bound. He is not as free as he had wanted to be. She has not treated him cruelly, no, but it hardly matters. What is one master in exchange for another? Nothing but the same concept of slavery. And he hates it. Hates her, hates himself, hates the entire god-forsaken stupid prophecy. Why did she bring him back if she could have done it herself? She has already slain Alduin. She has already brought peace upon the lands of the dead.</p>
<p>What does it matter what he can do.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“You wanted to help them, didn’t you?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Do not for one <em>second</em> assume that I have done this for any of the people on this plane. I have done this for myself. No one else.” He hisses the words, the metal just barely subduing the animalistic rage.</p>
<p>Shijia nods, calmly. She holds eye contact. “That is an answer as well. One I can accept. Thank you,” with that, she nods and lifts herself off the bench as if they’d had a friendly chat. Miraak can feel his blood pounding in his ears.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>After, when he has returned to the arching, high bows of the central hall, Shijia exclaims and hovers and looks upon him like a mother does to a hurt child. She insists on cleaning the wounds and treating him, using herbs as well as magick. She forces him to drink a potion to restore his strength. He knows he should stop her, tell her to keep her reservoir, but she brushes any concern aside. Like a comrade treats their fellow soldier. He is part of their group. It feels… strange.</p>
<p>He sits, leaned heavily against the stone, and she is half-seated, vigilant gaze sweeping the hall every couple of heartbeats.</p>
<p>“Why did you go, if you knew they would recognize you? They attacked you, and you got hurt. I… would not have sent you if I had known.” A frown crowns the bridge between her brows, worry etched into the lines around her eyes. She looks… troubled. Behind the mask, Miraak swallows.</p>
<p>“I needed to check on something. This was the easiest way.”</p>
<p>She hesitates, and then she leans closer. For a second, breathing becomes difficult. “Still. You should have told me. I could have accompanied.” There is something in her eyes, something she opens her mouth to speak when-</p>
<p>“Shijia!”</p>
<p>She turns, straightens, eyes flickering back to his seated form, new resolve between her shoulder blades. She carries it like a battle armour. He knows this is not over yet.</p>
<p>Miraak doesn’t know if he feels relieved by her moving away, or not. He decides not to indulge in the thought.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“If we do not fight them, people will die. They seek the destruction of Mundus. They seek to destroy the towers; I am sure you know about what they-” and she hesitates.</p>
<p>Miraak, who had nodded gravely at her prior words, freezes when the dragonborn’s full focus is shifted onto his frame. It is… heavy, lingering, seeping into his self like a grip of vice. But she doesn’t hold him against his will – it is choice. Or maybe it is lack-thereof. Does he have a choice, with her? There isn’t time to formulate further thoughts.</p>
<p>“You knew about them. You know about the towers, no.” There is <em>something</em> there, akin to relief, and she breathes, shiver imperceptible if he wouldn’t have known her so intimately.</p>
<p>“You said you wanted to fix something. Is this it? The… towers? You came back for them?” Recognition sparks, and before he can defend himself, barely lifting his hands, she carries on.</p>
<p>“It is similar for the dragon war, yes. They said you had turned them down, but you did not. You could not leave. If you had been able to, you would not have stayed.” She strides closer and Miraak cannot supress the sudden desire to step back. “You knew that you were trapped, and you wanted out anyway. And then you found about the Thalmor. Hidden goals. You said you had to ‘set things right’, bring order to the world – do you know that it will break if the towers are destroyed? You must.”</p>
<p>Hands on her hips, she stares up at him, two heads smaller and still a towering frame, gentle accusation in her eyes. “Why did you not say anything?”</p>
<p>Steady breaths. He can feel his shoulders dropping, tension bleeding out of him. Of course she’d know. A person like her, scholar like himself, is schooled in tracking information. She has been doing it this entire time.</p>
<p>“I was not certain of your own goals. Nor mine. I did not know you, couldn’t trust you. And you would not have trusted me. After, there was never the right… time.”</p>
<p>Something flashes in her gaze, but her voice is calm when she answers: “I told you from the start. So you went along, but did not tell me you wanted the same thing? Why?”</p>
<p>He hesitates.</p>
<p>“I wanted to help.”</p>
<p>Again, something shifts as she leans back a bit, but before she can lay into him again, he hastily adds: “You wouldn’t have trusted me, had I told you from the start. It would have been a danger. I did not know enough about them. The towers. I knew about their stabilizing qualities. About prior wars, construction. About how time breaks when they are…”</p>
<p>He breathes, deeply. Behind the mask, he can feel his mouth twitch involuntarily. He manages to supress the shiver, but not how his jaw clenches.</p>
<p>“I did not know enough. Mora obscures information in his library. The only way to learn was to seek answers here. I… took the opportunity. I’m sorry for not telling you. I was…” <em>afraid</em> “…worried.”</p>
<p>It doesn’t sound right, but he doesn’t know how else to express without revealing too much. He doesn’t want to scare her. He realizes, then, rather suddenly, that he would sacrifice a worryingly large number of things to keep her trust. It hits him like a cold wave.</p>
<p>
  <em>A fool.</em>
</p>
<p>A fool to think this way during a war.</p>
<p>She seems to understand, either way.</p>
<p>Eyes softening, she nods slowly, lifting a hand to place upon his armoured wrist. He can feel the heat of her on his skin, through the thin layer of fabric and metal.</p>
<p>“Nothing to apologize for. I… understand, I believe. I assumed. About the library, Apocrypha. It must have been,” she shudders and he can see an instinct in her eyes, “terrifying. Not knowing what to trust. Concern for the validity of it all seems natural.” Gaze jumping between the slits of his mask, she pauses for a moment. “I would have believed you. Trust grows.” She smiles, and it carries so much warmth that he can feel his ears burn. So close. So-</p>
<p>before he can continue the idea, she steps away with a last gentle squeeze to his wrist and he knows that it would be foolish to pursue. To catch her arm, pull her back, embrace her, now. Downright self-sabotaging. The desire, the temptation, they are there. He squashes both with the heel of a metallic mental boot.</p>
<p>“I am glad. It is important to talk about this. I had feared that you might not have known, that convincing could have,” she gifts him a worried glance, “stopped you from believing. That you found out about them is plausible. It saves us time. I have documents on the entirety of it, or… rather what I have found. The college has helped. Cyrodiil less so. It is enough, though. We have all but confirmed.”</p>
<p>Looking up at him, she points at the table in front of her with calm hands. “All of this. If you remember information, one that is not found here – I beg you, tell me. We have to make sure.” Troubled, she smiles again, but there is an edge in the lines of her face, exhaustion about their endeavour. Fighting the Thalmor is tricky business.</p>
<p>Miraak swallows. “I was searching for a way to repair the ones still intact. It would stabilize the wheel, so-to-speak, give us more time.” He has not moved an inch.</p>
<p>The lines relax and she is radiant. “You have found it?”</p>
<p>He hesitates. “In theory.”</p>
<p>“That is brilliant. It is enough. It must be. Tell me what you need.” Resolve in her eyes, like dragonbone. Something coils in his abdomen, and he nods.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>The revelation costs him days.</p>
<p>Like the tide, it pulls him in – horrifying, dawning understanding, grasping at tender strings. The realization hits him full-force in the night after, when he is pouring over the texts she gave and reads words again and again without truly seeing; it is then that he realizes. What he has conjured; what has been conjured by mere presence alone.</p>
<p>He’d choke himself if he could.</p>
<p>The nights that follow are spent restless, withstanding the urge to set about destruction and voice; it dawns on him that he will not see her for several days (a journey to town), and instead of calmness it brings anxiety that seems to eat away the marrow in his bones.</p>
<p>Sleepless, writing becomes the only option. It is no solution – not even an answer, really – but it <em>helps</em>; being able to rid of the thoughts, for a little while, letting it flow out of his hands instead of his throat.</p>
<p>(She wouldn’t be angry; she’d be disappointed. No harm is to come to the household, he promises himself.)</p>
<p>He writes about himself, about the philosophy, the energy that surrounds her, how she carries herself, and suddenly he isn’t lining words about political espionage but about the way light catches on her collarbone by the campfire, how her jaw cuts sharp as her sword, how her eyelashes flutter when she concentrates on magick, and he realizes, again, how bound he is.</p>
<p>He withstands the impulse to set the pages on fire. He goes on a hunt instead.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Hunting is a depressing activity until the soles of his boots are soaked in blood. Even then, it doesn’t bring pleasure, or relief. He knew, but it is strange reassurance to understand that still, he takes no joy in bloodshed.</p>
<p>Bandits that’d ambush travelling peddlers are enough concern for the small tower, and Miraak will not risk even this. He ignores the way the soul inside his chest curls possessively, the paranoid desire unveiled. <em>(Protect. Protect. Protect.)</em> It has been there for longer than he cares to find out, but he knows that it concerns her safety; anything other is of little importance.</p>
<p>He doesn’t want to love like a serpent.</p>
<p>He ponders on this; on the way want and need and longing clash and fray their way through the bows of his ribcage, a featherlight net woven round his heart, gripping tight. He hadn’t thought about desire. He hadn’t thought about love; would it have happened either way? What compels a glance to linger? Permanence is a meaningless word; he is dovah, and he realizes as any other would how terrifying of a concept it is.</p>
<p>What it means.</p>
<p>Is it the way she brought him back?</p>
<p>He pours over old writings when he returns, purloining her own scriptures and trying to reconstruct; there are pieces missing, enough to make it ambiguous, but it is equally enough to… to what? To make him realize that, no matter what may be bound, the matters of his heart are his own? That he cannot influence the way two souls may react, interact? (Or, maybe, only one. His eyes find nothingness that night.)</p>
<p>There is a distinct lack of anger in regards to her, a place not empty but filled with something foreign akin to how the sun tastes. He doesn’t know what he expected, but it surprises him; he is filled with frustration, but it has simmered down and is directed at the world surrounding and himself. He finds himself wishing he could hate her for it. For being who she is.</p>
<p>With surprise comes wonderment.</p>
<p>He places her scriptures back with utmost care, taking note to leave everything how it was; maybe he will let her know that he read them. Maybe he will ask to read them as though he hadn’t. Maybe it is best to act like nothing changed.</p>
<p>He could claim that research on the towers could be helped by research for the soul link.</p>
<p>Welcome distraction; it makes sense, suddenly, and combing through the texts he has available he realizes that it is, in fact, a reasonable theory.</p>
<p>He doesn’t even know if it is a soul link. He hadn’t cared to ask back then.</p>
<p>Her inevitable return brings a strange lack of anxiety, albeit calmness is far from what he feels; it is not anticipation, he thinks, but maybe curiosity.</p>
<p>Normalcy is foreign, now that he is aware; he has been watching her since he has woken, but he hadn’t noticed certain things. The way she brushes her fingertips over the clay of the teapot to conjure a heat charm. How shifting her weight during the morning practice of Tiger-Form lets her hip slide in one smooth motion from step to step. (The latter he doesn’t want to realize. It matters little.)</p>
<p>She calls him out on his absentmindedness with humorous glint in her eye over their teapots, hands playing with the ring on her little finger; calls him distracted and asks if he is alright. Genuine concern is interlaced with her attempt to lighten the room (not an attempt, he corrects), and the only thing he can do is shift focus to the theories he’d built the previous days; how he believes a soul link capable of potential for stabilization, maybe, with luck and skill.</p>
<p>She smells of grass and apple blossoms when she nods and leans forward in excitement, heads pushed together over the documents; absentmindedness becomes a problem under her sharp eye, and whilst he realizes that it only needs time to figure out, he does not have the option to wait.</p>
<p>Focus is needed.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>It is not the only revelation.</p>
<p>Days pass, and then they are in the city, travel a haze, and he listens to a merchant talk of the war and of how it may be their only way to escape subjugation, and something clicks.</p>
<p>It is not a kind revelation.</p>
<p>If he continues, he must choose the risk to either lose her or protect.</p>
<p>She requires all strength she can gather, be it in herself as well as any ally willing to fight by their side; she is their anchor, and a war is only lives lost – but a tower breaking means the fracture of reality, and Miraak breathes, <em>breathes</em> as something in his chest feels like it cracks, and something cold and painful floods the inside of his ribcage.</p>
<p>He reminds himself of how rose-colours will make him lose his gaze, and losing his gaze may mean losing her life, or losing her, despite her being alive. When he looks up and sees her, feet away, sharp in contrast to everything that surrounds her, he understands.</p>
<p>He cannot protect her this way.</p>
<p>It takes a handful of heartbeats to lock the box and hide it deep in the shelves of his mind, and another few to swallow the key.</p>
<p>He steps away from the company and looks over the edge of the city, feels the wind whirl under his heavy braid, stinging in his eyes, fingers cold and trembling lightly.</p>
<p>Single-minded focus.</p>
<p>His only chance is to keep her alive. He cannot hope for anything more.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
  </div></div>
</body>
</html>